


straight-up masterpieces

by tremontaine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Drawing, Multi, OT3, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremontaine/pseuds/tremontaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“D’you have a collection of dirty drawings already?” </p>
<p>“No,” Steve said, voice a little rough, breath against her ear. “Not of you. That’s invasive.”</p>
<p>“You’re an officer and a gentleman.” Dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	straight-up masterpieces

 

“It can’t possibly take this long,” Natasha said. “You can’t convince me it takes this long.” She was staring up at the ceiling, biting her lip to keep her smile back, and every now and then her hands would fly out to catch at the sheets or tug at her own hair. She was trembling, and she felt wild and golden and brimming with delight, her body rubbing luxuriously against the sweat-damp sheet. The fan in the corner was close enough to the bed that she felt the breeze passing over her, tightening her nipples and chasing goose-bumps over her skin.

“You know nothing about drawing,” Steve told her superciliously. “Can’t you keep still?”

Natasha cackled. “Jesus, no. Can’t you see where his mouth is?” And felt the broad shoulders beneath her thighs shake with laughter, felt James’ breath gust hot against her cunt, felt the way the shape of his mouth changed against her labia as he smiled. He had been eating her out all afternoon, it was torture, it was bliss, his jaw must be aching – he was so hard it had to hurt, leaking pre-come on the sheet and himself, curled between her thighs. His left arm was wrapped around her thigh and hip, heavy and cool on her waist, holding her where he wanted her, and now he slid his right up her body to tease her tits, pull at her nipples. Natasha moaned, over and over, empty cunt tightening as he licked her slit, and caught his right hand in both of hers, digging her fingers into the calloused palm – pressing down when he licked her clit or pushed his tongue inside her – holding it above her heart.

“Yes,” Steve said, “oh, darling, hold that. Put your head back – tilt your chin up. Arch your back again –“

Nothing easier. She was rubbing her foot against James’ hip, sighing and shivering as he played with her. “This is cruel.” Beautifully, perfectly, delightfully.

“You didn’t have to.” Steve was breathing a little hard himself, but the quick scratch of his pencil across the page didn’t stop.

“I wanted my dirty pictures.”

“Well,” said Steve, “you’re gonna get ‘em.”

Natasha laughed again, filthy. “And more besides. I do admire your dedication to your art, Captain Rogers – oh, _oh_ – but I do – I do think I like it better when I have your _un-di-vi-ded_ attention –“

“You do,” said Steve. “Sweetheart, you do. Only reason I’ve lasted this long –“ He broke off, cursed softly, when James did something really delicious with his tongue and Natasha had to drop the pose to twist and moan and beg, breathless, for him to do it again; this being James, he was happy to oblige but wouldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let her come, and she tugged at his hair and dug her nails into his hand and thrashed underneath him, the blood pounding in her face, her chest tight with need and breathlessness; suddenly the ache in her thighs was unbearable, the touch of the sheet too harsh, his tongue too rough; she just about sobbed, a see-saw tip into desperation.

“Oh, oh, Jesus, don’t, _don’t_ –”

“Don’t stop,” said Steve. “Jesus Christ. Don’t stop. Hold on sweetheart, you can hold on can’t you, watch you like this forever, always, you’re so beautiful…”

“You sadistic fucks,” said Natasha, moaning, “Christ, god almighty, James, James.” She locked her legs around him, felt the tremors in his own muscles, the undulation of his body as he rubbed against the mattress, hips rolling in tight little circles, trying to hold back but unable to stop moving. “Oh god just let me come and then fuck me, get up here and fuck me, I want your cock, I want you inside me.” This was just – this was being teased past endurance – any more and she would die, she would, her whole sense of self would collapse, she would be nothing but sensation, nothing but live wire need for them to play with.

She tried to push up into his mouth, but his arm across her hips wouldn’t let her; for a moment he let her thrash helplessly, and then he knelt up, taking her with him, lifting her body half off the mattress; the sound Steve made was out of this world, and Natasha cried out herself: the rush of blood to her head, the dizziness of being manhandled so easily, as if the Black Widow were a fantasy, a character in a novel she was writing in her head. And yet, her thighs were over his shoulders, around his neck; she could kill him, here, now, like this, and he knew it. Her heartbeat was hammering in her throat, her mouth was dry with moaning, she barely dared move in case that made him stop. His right hand was still trapped between her own. He closed his fingers around hers and looked at her, eyes bright with self-satisfaction; his nose bumped her clit as he rubbed his tongue around her vagina; she was wet down to her anus with her slick and his saliva, and he lifted his mouth off her and licked his swollen lips, grinning, before he put his mouth over her clit and licked – not the nub of it but along the swollen, sensitive root, just off to the right, the same place that brought her off when she masturbated, and orgasm swept hot through her body, shook her, left her limp and gasping, breathless, sightless, utterly exposed to them.

Her nails dug deep red crescents into his hand, and she barely felt it when he lowered her to the mattress again, eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling; all she was aware of was bliss. She shuddered through quick delicious aftershocks when James pressed the flat of his tongue to her cunt, her clit; she cursed and laughed and lay loose-limbed and satiated in the pillows as he pushed himself up, kissed her stomach, her navel, painting her skin with her own slick, his face and neck were so wet with her.

“There you go, Captain,” James said, and his voice was utterly, utterly wrecked. “Well-fucked and wanting more was how you wanted her, wasn’t it?”

“Oh!” Natasha started laughing helplessly, her whole body trembling; James bent to kiss the inside of her thigh, stroking his left hand over her flank. “Come _here_. Can I return the favour?” All the world was rimmed with gold, made new and beautiful, and he was one of the two most beautiful things in it.

“No,” said James, though a shudder ran through him, rubbing his wet hot skin against her legs. “Thank you. I want Steve over here with his face in the pillows and his ass in the air so I can fuck him stupid.”

Finally the sketchbook dropped on the floor; there was a clatter when the pencil followed it, rolling across the wooden boards, and the mattress dipped underneath her, Steve brushed his fingers against her shoulder – he put his hand over James’ left at her waist and bent over her, smiling, breathing quick, pupils blown with lust, mouth red and wet where he had chewed on it while he sketched. “Mary mother of god, you’re beautiful.”

“I expect my dirty pictures to reflect that,” Natasha said primly, and had already dissolved into giggles again when he kissed her, wet and hot and lovely, making her sigh and shiver; it had been earth-shattering, but it was only the second orgasm of the afternoon, she could manage one more, probably more than one, dirty pictures deserved a reward, did they not, and so did the dedication it took to lie between her legs and eat her out for so long…

Yes, oh yes. But that was after; Steve wanted to get fucked, she knew that look, and she could feel James trembling between her thighs, quick little shivers, he would rub himself off against the sheet in another minute, which, granted, was hot as fuck to watch… but there. She helped Steve roll him onto his back beside her, laughing, watched as Steve straddled his thighs, bent to kiss him – merest peck at his mouth before he settled in to his actual purpose, which was licking Natasha’s drying slick off James’ skin jesusfuckingchristalmighty. James threw his head back to give Steve better access; bit his lip, moaned helplessly, curled his left hand around Steve’s muscled thigh.

“Tash,” he said, trembling.

“You all right, sweetheart?”

“Can I have my hand back?”

She laughed out loud. “No, sorry.” Tightened her fingers around his, stroked his knuckles, traced sinews and veins. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too. Steve – Steve –“

“Shush,” said Steve, “I wanna taste – fucking love watching you eat Nat out, thought I’d come right there when I saw how wet your face was.”

“Some of it,” Natasha said innocently, “must have been your come,” and watched, satisfied, the shudders that took them both, the way James’ hips jerked up, the pretty pink flush of Steve’s face deepen. She bent her head a little and sucked James’ fingertips into her mouth; they tasted of sweat and herself and almost certainly Steve’s come, almost as soon as she had rolled off Steve’s hips James had tucked his fingers inside her to stroke and tease.

“Some of it,” said James; she hadn’t thought his voice could get more wrecked – “Some of it, sure, goddamn love to eat it out of you, but you get so wet, sweetheart, every time, so fucking filthy, and let me tell you lying there and making you mess yourself up is just about my favourite way to spend an afternoon.”

Her turn to swallow, hard. She flicked her tongue across his fingertips and didn’t quite trust herself to answer. Steve was grinning against James’ throat, and James pulled him up by the hair a ways to kiss him and then kept right on talking, pupils so blown she could barely see the grey, eyes locked on her face, on her mouth suckling his fingers.

“Nothing like it, you know, how you move, how wet you get, the smell and the way I can feel how you open up for it, so hot and greedy – nothing’s better, nothing, not even being in you, Jesus, love to spread your legs and taste you, watch you get all wet and soft and swollen for me, nothing’s better – except laying you down and spreading your legs and watching Steve’s come slide out of you.”

Jesus fuck. Natasha shook, bit at his fingers – that wasn’t fair, just wasn’t, and he was laughing, low and scratchy and delighted, and what the hell was Steve even doing, lying there and – oh – “Here,” said Steve, kneeling up, “here, come on,” he’d opened himself up, he must have done, he was stroking lube over James’ cock with steady hands, quick and efficient – James tugged his fingers out of Natasha’s mouth and gripped a handful of the sheets between them, beautifully flushed, his chest heaving as Steve sank down, the muscles in his thighs taut and straining, head flung back and hands bruising on James’ hips. The bed groaned when he started to move at last, fucking himself on James’ cock.

“Christ, yes, Steve, so tight, Jesus.” James would’ve sat up – reached for him – but Natasha put her hand on his chest and held him down.

“Quit squirming and take it,” she said, grinning, and licked his nipple. Above them Steve laughed harshly, the sound tangling up with the slap of their skin and everyone’s panting – even Natasha’s. James planted his feet on the mattress, but he didn’t thrust up; just sank his right hand into Natasha’s hair and said, “So fucking beautiful, sweetheart, could watch you do this for the rest of my life, yes, god –“

“Your goddamn mouth,” said Steve, biting his own. “Oh, Jesus, yes. C’mon, Buck” – he must have done something – moved his hips or clenched around James’ cock – because Natasha could feel the shudder move through James, the clench of his hand in her hair, and grinning to herself she transferred her attentions to the other nipple and the sensitive skin below his scars – “come in me, sweetheart, waited so long, want to feel it, want you to fill me up –“

“You know,” said Natasha, “there’s a name for that kink.”

“Possessiveness,” said James. “Jesus. S’about filling you all up and marking you up and holding you down after to gloat over it.”

“ _Sort_ of like the smug look you get when one of us has ripped-up shoulders the next morning,” said Steve breathlessly.

“I do not,” said Natasha, appalled – although she couldn’t have said why – and groaned when they both laughed at her.

“Yeah you do!”

“It’s hot as fuck.”

Hmm. Well then. “It is?”

“You being possessive is the hottest thing in the damn world,” James promised her. “Jesus. How could it not. Oh fuck, Steve, _fuck_.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, and shifted his weight, changing the angle minutely, “god, yes.” And then, “Knowing the one thing Natasha Romanov’s thinking when she looks at you is _mine_ ,” and James jerked up into him, laughing again, pushed up to meet him over and over, flushed and trembling with effort.

Hmm, Natasha thought again. “So,” she said, and rearranged herself on her side, propping her head on her hand, elbow in the pillows by James’ head. “So you like it when I tell you that you’re mine.” That worked. She grinned. “That’s not all it takes, is it, just that one little word? No-oo. There’s gotta be like a physical reminder, yeah, where every time you look at that mark you think about me, that it? Like being branded, and you’re the only one who can read it.”

“Nat,” said Steve helplessly; he was moving quicker now, tight little circles of his hips like he couldn’t bear to push up too far away from James, his big hands sliding on James’ sweat-slick skin, searching for purchase, for leverage. The strong scarred body underneath him was writhing a little, James’ eyes were closed, his hands tight on Steve’s thighs, and Natasha reached out and took his hand in hers again and kissed his knuckles.

“Oh you’d like that – being all marked up – having some permanent reminder on your body of just exactly who you belong to. Kind of like this.” And she put his hand on her hip, rubbing his fingertips over the Odessa scar.

“Jesusfuckingchristalmighty,” said James, and came in beautiful drawn out spasms, his body curling upwards towards Steve’s, red-faced and panting and shaking all over, hiccupping little gasps as Steve moved above him, sinking slowly into the pillows; his fingers were bruising Natasha’s hip, and she petted him through the aftershocks, laughing softly, smoothing his hair back and kissing his pretty swollen lips.

“There you go. Some day I’ll tie you down and carve an hourglass into your skin no super-serum ever invented could heal completely.”

“God,” said James, dazed. “Like that’s even necessary. No, Steve, stay there, sweetheart – “ and both he and Natasha moved at once to touch him, to stroke his cock – Steve pitched forwards with a little groan and buried his face in James’ neck as he fell apart, sweet, muffled little noises escaping him, _oh yes oh oh_. James wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, held him close; Natasha pushed up and draped herself languidly across his back, listening to his breathing slow, his heartbeat, rubbing her fingers over wet beautiful skin, the sweet, tempting curve of his ass.

“You want it,” Steve mumbled, “you take it.”

Natasha looked over at the bedside table, where the strap-on was hidden in the bottom drawer. “Hmm.”

“S’yours.” He sounded amused. James laughed softly.

“So it is.” She kissed his hip, smiling. “What about my dirty pictures?”

“The ultimate physical reminder that you are _unequivocally_ ours,” said James. The scratch in his voice made her heart beat faster and her face flush. He touched her gently, a slow drag of his fingertips down her back. “Any asshole with a gun can scar us. You let us do that.” You wanted it; you asked for it; you trusted us to take you apart and put it all down on paper.

Natasha sighed. “So I did.” What an idiot she was. And how marvellous it felt: how free and how safe and how - how joyous.  

“Hey,” Steve murmured. “Drink of water, OK? Then fuck me through the mattress.”

“Shh,” Natasha said, smoothing her hand over his skin again and again. “Don’t be pushy, Steve, I’m having a moment.”

He laughed, tired and wrecked and lascivious, and Natasha lay for long moments watching the curtain-shadows on the opposite wall moving in the breeze and listening to them breathe, punch-drunk with happiness.

 

 


End file.
